Seven Seals
by Raynell
Summary: Supposed to take place between S4's Heaven and Hell and Death Takes a Holiday. Winchesters and new BFF Castiel fight to save another seal from being broken. Some OC romance for Cas. Slight profanity. Good old times before S6 crazy. Reviews will help me :
1. Chapter 1

_Battle Creek, Michigan_

The pretty brunette stood by the bar; obviously uncomfortable at being alone in the meat market. Various men had tried chatting her up, to no avail. Around her, men and women got ready to do the mating dance; some getting lucky, some not so. Alcohol helped anyway.

She crossed her arms, nursing the martini she had ordered ages ago, her fingers fiddling with her mobile phone. When it rang, she picked it up immediately.

"Where the hell are you?" she snapped into the phone. An indistinct voice on the other end of the line answered.

The brunette rolled her eyes. Obviously the answer wasn't what she wanted.

"This was your idea, you know," she retorted into the receiver, biting her lip.

She sighed. Nat wasn't going to come running over just because she threw a hissy fit.

"Fine. I'll just go home."

She paused, listening to the reassuring tones on the other side.

"Sure, Chicago for the weekend sounds good. I'll talk to you later."

Feeling slightly mollified, Sara Weis tucked her cell phone in her purse and looked at her watch. It was just past 11pm. If she left now, she could catch David Letterman.

"Good night, Mike," she said to the bartender.

"Nat not coming?" he asked.

"What do you think?" she retorted, smiling. "Anyway, I'm off. I'll see ya next week."

Mike nodded. "You tell that friend of yours she owes me a date, Sara."

Sara laughed. All these years and Mike still had a crush on Nathalie. Picking up her purse, she waved good bye to him, making her way slowly past assorted men and women, enjoying their weekend.

It was early November but unusual for Michigan, it wasn't freezing. Nevertheless, she pulled her coat closer to her and walked briskly to her car.

She had parked it a few blocks away; the bar not having a dedicated parking area. There weren't that many people about but that didn't bother her. This was her town.

Which was why the sudden change shocked her, turning the familiar into the unfamiliar. Sara felt it before she heard it. The temperature seemed to have plummeted suddenly, her breath coming out as steam. She looked around, curious.

There was no wind, nothing.

Damn Michigan weather, she thought. She picked up her pace anyway; for some reason, she felt afraid. After what felt like hours, she saw her red Prius, looking ghostly under the streetlight.

Her fingers trembling slightly, she dug in her purse for her keys, while berating herself for being silly.

But she couldn't shake off the feeling that someone – something – was watching her. Wanted to harm her.

She pressed the unlock button and her car beeped in response. Hah! Take that, horror movies! They always make the heroine drive an old car that requires keys to unlock, she thought. Silly.

She got into her car and breathed a sigh of relief. She laughed, feeling stupid for being so afraid for nothing.

She shook her head and put on her seat belt. She adjusted her rearview mirror and that was when she saw the woman. Pale and ghostly; she had a red gash around her throat.

"You left us …." Sara wasn't sure if she heard it, or whether the words arrived in her mind without the virtue of vocalization.

She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. A red gash appeared as if by magic over her throat; spilling a dark red liquid over her white blouse.

Sputtering, she slumped over the steering wheel. The horn blared, a lonesome sound in the cold November night.

* * *

><p>"Agents Barrett and Waters," a deep voice intoned.<p>

Nathalie Merrill looked up. Two men in suits were talking to the officer manning the desk. Two tall and very fit men from what she could see. Her eyes took in every detail; from their height – one easily 6'4 while the other stood at 6'1 – the width of their shoulders to their muscular legs, which their trousers could not disguise.

Her eyes rested on their cowboy boots.

She looked up again, only to see the shorter one, the one who had spoken, staring at her. She caught her breath.

He was gorgeous. His eyes were green with long lashes any woman would die for, his lips full. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, adding to the appeal. He wore a mischievous grin, and once he was sure that she knew he had caught her checking him out, he winked.

Nathalie blushed angrily and looked away.

Dean Winchester grinned again. The honey blonde sitting on the wooden bench at the station looked feisty, she might be an interesting distraction once they solved this case.

An elbow to his ribs brought his attention to his brother, Sam. He looked meaningfully at Dean, gesturing to the officer.

"The Sara Weis case?" the officer asked.

Dean nodded.

"Why are the Feds interested in a carjacking case?" the officer asked.

Dean cleared his throat. "We think it might be related to a case we're working on in Ohio. Thought the guy might have fled to Michigan."

The officer shrugged. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but we already got the guy who did it," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," the officer replied, showing the two the case file. "Copped to everything."

Sam browsed through the file.

"But not the murder," he pointed out.

The officer sighed. "We found the victim's purse, plus some stuff from her car when we arrested him. Of course he's not gonna admit to killing the girl; he's on parole – for another carjacking."

"Do you mind if we talked to him anyway? He might have seen our guy," Dean said. The officer stared at the two and nodded, sighing in exasperation.

"Come this way," he said, opening the barricade.

Dean snuck one last look at the honey blonde on the bench, checking out the long, shapely legs that her skirt could not cover. She was not looking at him; instead she was scribbling something in her notebook.

* * *

><p>Nathalie finished writing down everything she heard the officer telling the agents.<p>

Agents, my ass, she scoffed. No FBI agent went around in cowboy boots. But she was intrigued. These two seemed unwilling to accept the official version of Sara's death. Maybe they could help her.

She blamed herself for Sara's death. After all, she was the one to stand Sara up that night. They had made a date to hang out at the bar; a much-needed R&R after Sara's fiancé dumped her for being "too boring". Sara had been heartbroken.

Nathalie had wanted to take her out to cheer her up. Sara had been moping for days in her sweatpants – it was so unlike the confident, cheery girl Nathalie knew that she didn't take no for an answer.

And as luck would have it, she got called in to work when she was supposed to meet Sara. She thought she'd wrap up her story fast, but it required some heavy re-writing and editing, and before she knew it, she was pulling an all-nighter.

And while she was busy re-writing her story, Sara was being killed.

Nathalie bit her lip, willing the tears to go away. She had cried enough when she heard about Sara's death five days ago. She felt – knew—she was guilty. And she was angry, with herself, the world and the police for easily dismissing her best friend's death as an "opportunistic crime".

She didn't believe that Tom Jolson was guilty. She had known the guy in high school. He was a loser and a juvenile delinquent, but most of all, he was a rat. He always avoided confrontations, preferring to get back at people only when there was no danger to him. There was no way he could have hidden in the car and killed Sara.

She had to find a way to talk to him. She had asked the police, but they had refused.

"Wait for the arraignment," they said, smirking, always happy to turn down a journalist's request. But there was a little sympathy mixed in too, knowing the dead girl had been her best friend.

Well, if the police weren't going to help her, she'd have to find another way. And like an answer to her prayer, the two of them had walked in.

Nathalie looked at her shoes. They were Gucci stilettos, very expensive and one of her favorites. She sighed.

_Ah well, it's for a good cause_, she thought.

* * *

><p>"I didn't do it," Tom Jolson sniveled. The man looked like a trapped rat, cowering in his chair. Dean raised an eyebrow.<p>

"I admit, I took her purse, but that's it, I swear," he said.

Sam pointed to the case file. "They police also found her iPod and her jewelry when they arrested you."

Tom hung his head. "OK, maybe other stuff too. But, I swear, I didn't kill her. She was already dead when I found her."

Dean sighed. "Why don't we take it from the top? And don't spare any details, no matter how weird."

Tom took a deep breath. "I was just hanging around the area, minding my own business –"

"Doing what?" Dean barked. Tom looked embarrassed.

Peeing, Sam mouthed. Dean nodded. Meh, been there, done that. When you gotta go, you gotta go.

"Go on," he said.

"Then I saw her, walking to her car. She was practically running."

"Was there anyone after her?"

Tom shook his head.

"And then what?"

Tom hesitated. "You want to hear everything?"

Sam and Dean nodded.

"Then it got really cold. I know it's November and this is Michigan, but it was a weird kind of cold."

The guys sat up, interested. Tom looked at them, trying to gauge their response. None was forthcoming. Tom sighed and continued.

"And then I heard a horn. It kept going on. I went to the car and that's when I saw her. Her throat cut, her head slumped over the steering wheel, her eyes wide open and staring," Tom said, his eyes wide with the recollection.

Sam kept the guy on track. "And that's when you took her items?"

Tom gulped. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Well, she didn't need them anymore."

Dean bit down a retort. There was nothing he'd like better than to punch this rat in the face, but he held his temper. Guy's scum but he was innocent scum.

Sam asked Tom kindly, "In the report, you said you saw someone?"

Tom hesitated. Sam added, "We may be able to help."

"OK," Tom said haltingly. "There was someone. I told the police but they didn't believe me."

Sam gave him an encouraging look.

"I thought I saw someone at the back of the car. A woman. But when I looked again, she was gone."

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

"The police only found your fingerprints in the car," Sam pointed out.

Tom slumped against the chair, hopeless. "I know," he said, looking miserable. "It doesn't make any sense."

"What did she look like, this woman?" Dean asked.

Tom frowned. "That's the weird part. I thought it looked sort of like her, the dead girl."


	2. Chapter 2

"So what do you think? A ghost?" Dean asked as they walked down the steps, heading to the Impala.

"Seems so."

"One drowning, a hanging, another burned to death, one was stabbed – 40 times, I might add, another shot in the back, and this one got her throat cut. Each about a week apart. I don't get it," Dean said, loosening his tie.

"If it's a haunting, the ghost has a weird M.O," he added.

"Maybe it's not one ghost," Sam said.

Dean paused. "Six different ghosts, all becoming active one after another? All over the country?"

Sam shrugged.

"Oops!" 120 lbs. of sheer woman collided with Dean's hard frame then, hands clutching at him.

Automatically, Dean's hands went up, catching hold of the klutz. Honey blonde hair all messed up; greens eyes with flecks of brown peeking through the curtain of hair. Dean's nose caught strawberries wafting from her hair.

It was her. The pretty girl on the bench. She was taller than he expected and up close, she was absolutely stunning. Oval face, straight nose, clear eyebrows, full lips and a pert, albeit stubborn chin. And from what his hands were telling him, her body wasn't half bad, either.

"Whoa, there, sweetheart. What's your hurry?" Dean drawled, giving her a slow crooked smile. Next to him, Sam rolled his eyes.

Dick, Nathalie thought. She had felt his hands doing a bit more "holding" than required. She took a deep breath and tried to stand up, swaying slightly.

"You OK?" Dean asked, concerned.

"Yes … I mean, no," Nathalie answered breathlessly, her hands still around his waist. She lifted her ankle.

Dean's eyes went down and saw what she meant. The four-inch heel on her shoe had broken, hanging off the sole. He looked back at her. She seemed upset, looking at her shoe forlornly.

"Let me help," Dean said. He took the shoe and snapped the heel off. He handed it back to her, winking. The girl smiled.

Sam snorted. He had had enough of the foreplay.

"I'll be in the car," he said, leaving.

Dean ignored him. "Well, since I saved you, I figure you owe me," he drawled, his hands still around her. "How about you and me meet for a drink later? I'm new in town. You can show me around."

He smiled.

Nathalie looked at him, appearing to be considering the offer. She leaned close, fluttered her lashes and gave him a small sigh.

"Mmmm," she breathed, her lips close to his. Her hands moved down his trousers. Dean held his breath.

All of a sudden, she dropped her hands and stepped back, smiling brightly.

"Thanks but no thanks."

Dean was stunned. Laughing lightly, Nathalie turned and walked away.

"Better luck next time," she called out, limping slightly on uneven shoes. Her fingers clutched the motel key she had just lifted from him.

* * *

><p>Dean was scowling when he got into the car. He tossed the broken heel to Sam, who didn't bother trying to contain his laughter.<p>

"Shut up," he growled. The Impala came to life.

Sam snorted with laughter.

"Dude, she blue-balled you," he said, laughing.

Dean rolled his eyes. He sniffed himself as subtly as possible. Did he stink? One minute she was hot and heavy, the next zilch.

"Where to now?" he asked harshly, changing the subject. Barely containing his mirth, Sam told him.

The Impala surged forward.

* * *

><p>Nathalie figured she had an hour or so before the two yahoos were due to return. She walked casually to Room 223, the motel key in her hand. Checking to see no one was around, she unlocked the door and stepped in, putting the Do Not Disturb sign out.<p>

The room wasn't a total mess, considering two guys were bunking in here. But there sure were a lot of books and papers.

The first thing she did was go through the guys' luggage. Wrinkled shirts, dusty trousers, dirty underwear – her nose wrinkled at the smell – normal stuff, plus the not-so-normal stuff.

She also found quite a few guns and daggers. If the two were law enforcement, the weapons could be explained. But they weren't, so what did this mean? There were also other items, odder than most. She pulled out a rosary, some small water bottles, a silver dagger and a bunch of foul-smelling bags. And a lacy thong. Classy, she thought, tossing it onto the bed.

Her fingers touched something hard and oblong. Jackpot. It was the guys' laptop.

She opened it, hoping they had not shut it down before they left this morning. No, they hadn't.

She browsed their net history and saw Sara's case file, plus five others. The people had all died sometime in the last few weeks or so through various means. Some had been ruled accidental, others foul play and the rest, unknown.

Like Sara's case, the police in two of the cases thought they had caught the guy responsible. Both the case files reported the perpetrator saying they saw someone with the victim before disappearing. In both cases, the police thought it was a bunch of hogwash.

Curioser and curioser, she thought.

Next, Nathalie inspected the books. They weren't what she expected. The books were old and were all on the same topic: the supernatural.

One book had been left out, open to a page. She read the passage, her mind racing.

It was about ghosts.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Gavin Keys? FBI," Dean said, displaying his fake ID. Sam did the same.<p>

Gavin gave the badges a cursory glance.

"Is this about Sara?" he asked. His eyes were rimmed with red, as if he had been crying. He was also slurring his words a bit; his breath speaking volumes.

"We're sorry to bother you at this time, but may we come in?" Sam asked.

Gavin nodded listlessly, moving back to let the two in.

Sam took a seat, while Gavin poured himself a drink. Dean walked around the room, surreptitiously inspecting the place.

"You guys want a drink?"

Dean opened his mouth to accept; Sam glared at him and shook his head. "No thanks, we're on duty."

"Suit yourself," Gavin said, throwing back the liquid. He poured another.

Sam cleared his throat. "Mr. Keys, we'd like to ask you about your fiancée …"

"Ex-fiancée," Gavin interrupted him.

"Excuse me?"

"Ex-fiancée. We broke up a few days before she died. I was the reason she went to that bar that night, why she was out when the carjacker attacked her," he said, dully. He buried his head in his hands.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face sympathetic.

"I don't even know why I broke up with her. It's like I wasn't even in control of my actions. I loved Sara," Gavin said, his voice breaking.

Dean caught Sam's eye. He held up his index finger. Sulfur.

"Was there anything about Sara that was unusual?" Sam continued. "Something that was not common knowledge?"

Gavin frowned. "What does that have to do with her murder? And anyway, I thought the police caught the guy."

"Some new evidence has come to light, so if you can help us …" Dean chimed in.

Gavin sighed. "She was just a really nice and sweet girl. Never bitchy, in all the years we knew each other. Everyone loved her."

He paused. They sat there in silence.

"She never let what happened to her as a kid bother her," Gavin finally added.

Sam and Dean gave him a questioning look. Gavin saw their faces.

"Oh yeah, you're not from around here," he said. "When Sara was about 5, her father killed her mother and sisters. Slit their throats. He would have got Sara too, but she heard her mother screaming for her to run. So she ran."

"What happened to her father?" Sam asked.

"He shot himself afterwards."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Sam cleared his throat. "Did Sara visit their graves often?"

Gavin shook his head. "No, they were cremated."

"Any mementos, a lock of hair maybe? Nail clippings?" Dean asked.

Gavin looked puzzled and shook his head. "She said she wanted to forget about it, so she got rid of everything. There's nothing left."

* * *

><p>"And now there's a demon? Dude, what the hell?" Dean asked as soon as they got into the car.<p>

Sam shrugged. "I dunno, man. I got nothing." He picked up the broken hell absent-mindedly, twiddling it.

"If there is a demon, why didn't it gank the girl? It makes the fiancé break up with her and what? It leaves?" Dean continued.

Sam was silent, inspecting the broken shoe heel. Dean glared at him, exasperated.

"Feel free to chime in anytime there, Sammy," he said, pulling out of the driveway.

Sam was still looking at the heel.

"Do you know what brand this is?" Sam suddenly asked.

Dean looked at Sam, mystified. Sam looked at him seriously.

"Surprise me," Dean finally said.

"This is Gucci," Sam said. Dean gave him a blank look. Sam sighed.

"These shoes are high end. They don't break easily," he explained.

Dean gave Sam a long look.

"I've always wanted a sister," he finally said.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, dude. You don't get it. These shoes don't just break. They 're supposed to last. This is where people get vintage fashion."

Dean frowned. "You mean –" His hands went to his trouser pockets. They were sadly key-less.

"Son of a bitch," he yelled.

* * *

><p>"Why are you here?"<p>

The voice was deep and gravelly, the tones even. Nathalie swore to herself. She had not heard anyone come in.

Luckily, the voice didn't sound like either of the guys, so maybe she could bluff her way out. She turned around, plastering an embarrassed smile on her face, her hand grappling for the thong she had found in the guys' luggage earlier.

"Sorry, I just came back to get something I left …" she started in a breathless, giggly voice. Then she saw him, the underwear in her hand forgotten.

He stood in the middle of the room. Wavy dark hair, chiseled face with a light stubble. He was dressed in a suit, his blue tie loose and a trench coat that looked almost too big for his slight six-foot frame. But his eyes were what stopped her dead in her tracks.

They were an intense blue. She felt she could drown in their depths.

He moved towards her, looking puzzled and … intrigued? His eyes roamed over her, his head cocked to the side.

Nathalie caught her breath. His gaze seemed to strip her bare, leaving her exposed. But she couldn't move or do anything. All she could do was stare back at him. He was … beautiful, for lack of a better word.

Cliché, her inner editor scolded.

His eyes dropped to the book on the bed. He turned back to her.

"I was just …"

His hand went to her forehead. The last thing she saw before darkness enveloped her was those blue eyes, burning with an unworldly light.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel looked at the unconscious woman on the bed curiously. He also felt something else, something unusual. He did not have a word to what he felt; he was still unused to his vessel's capacity for feeling emotions.

Unlike some other angels, he had never any need or the inclination to walk the earth. For over 2,000 years he had observed humanity from above, admiring their beauty and wondering at their existence.

They were flawed, and by any logic, they were weak. They should never have lasted a day, but they did. Everything life threw at them, they took, adapted and thrived.

In his admiration of humans, Castiel was in the minority, he knew. But they were his Father's creation and His best. They did not have the luxury of a moral map ingrained in them from the start like his kind; but most managed to create or find one anyway. Even the most evil of men had a line they did not cross, which Castiel found miraculous as well.

He looked at the woman again. She seemed to be the epitome of the beauty his Father had endowed; a wondrous work of art. He leaned over her, noting the perfection of her features. A few tendrils were on her face; Castiel brushed them away.

How remarkable … a random act of cells at the right time and the right moment, and the result is something so intricate and simple at the same time. Order emerging out of chaos.

"Cas, you sly dog," Dean's deep voice broke into his reverie. Castiel straightened up, flustered.

Dean winked, throwing Sam's key on the table. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I … er …," Castiel stuttered.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Dean said. Castiel gave him a blank stare.

"I see you've met our resident thief," Dean continued, gesturing to the unconscious Nathalie.

"I … caught her going through your room," Castiel explained haltingly. He was still feeling flustered.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "And you knocked her out?"

Castiel shrugged, helplessly. No word seemed adequate.

Sam went to Nathalie, looking at the books around her.

"What was she looking for?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Dunno. Everything's still here." He stooped to pick up the book by her hand.

"She seemed interested in this one though, the one about ghosts."

Nathalie gave a snort and turned over, snoring softly. The three men looked at her.

Dean was taken aback.

"Enjoying it, isn't she?" he finally said.

"Sometimes, if the person has not had enough rest, this is the only time they can," explained Castiel.

He had noticed the dark shadows around her eyes; his vessel tended to develop them if he did not close his eyes after a long while. The shadows did not detract from her beauty as far as he was concerned; they just made her look more fragile.

There was something bothering her and Castiel yearned to comfort her. He frowned. Again, there was that strange need to … reach out.

Dean clapped his hands together. "Let's find out what she's doing here, shall we?" He grabbed a chair. Sam sat on the other bed.

Castiel looked nervous; Dean wouldn't have believed it if he had not seen it for himself.

"Go ahead, Cas. Wake her up," he said.

Castiel sighed and touched his fingers to her forehead. Nathalie snorted and rolled off the bed. Blinking, she looked around the room in confusion. Then she saw the feet, three pairs of men's feet. She looked up and saw three men looking at her.

Crap.

* * *

><p>"Anything you wanna tell us?" the one she had molested earlier said, his smile easy, his eyes crinkling. His relaxed posture was a lie though, his hand loosely held a gun.<p>

Nathalie crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

"You first," she said mutinously. She was cornered, which meant she got stubborn.

Dean laughed, "Wanna try again, sweetheart?" he bit out. He was pissed off. Belatedly, Nathalie thought she might be pushing it. Ah well, too late.

The other man, the tall lanky one, intervened.

"My name's Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean. And that is Castiel," he said.

"Nice to meet you. I'd get up and shake your hand, but I'm worried you'll kill me," she said sarcastically. Her eyes went to the man in the trench coat – Castiel. He moved his gaze to her when he felt her glance; she quickly averted her eyes.

"This gets better and better," Dean muttered.

Sam gave her a comforting smile. "I'm sure you've figured out that we're not FBI agents."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Sam took a deep breath. He was still trying.

"Give it up, puppy dog. Those looks don't work on me," Nathalie said nastily.

"Cas, do your Vulcan hand-hold thing or I swear to God I'm going to kill her," Dean growled. Castiel moved hesitatingly to her; that was enough to scare her.

"All right, all right, uncle," she said, alarmed. She didn't want that beautiful man coming close. She was already extremely conscious of his presence as it was.

The men waited expectantly. Nathalie sighed.

"OK, what do you want to know?"

"You can start off by saying who you are, why you groped me and stole the key?" Dean asked sardonically.

Nathalie made a face. "My name's Nathalie Merrill. I'm a journalist," she said, ignoring Dean's swearing. "I knew you weren't feds. So I stole your key – and I did not grope you by the way," she said hotly.

"I wanted to see what you guys were after. You obviously didn't buy what the police said," she finished.

"Why?"

"Sara is – was – my best friend. I know something else killed her," she said, a brief flash of pain crossing her face. Dean and Sam looked at her with sympathy. She stole a glance at the third man, Castiel. He did not react, his expression was wooden.

"When I saw you guys, I knew you had another theory. That's it," she finished. Sam and Dean nodded; Castiel stood still by the TV, silent.

She looked at them. They didn't say anything.

"Now my turn," she said.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Minutes ticked by.

"Look, the strong, silent thing might do it for some women, I'm not one of them," she said. She waited for them to respond, when they didn't she added, "Don't bother. I can guess."

Dean smirked. "Why don't you enlighten us then, sweet cheeks?"

Yep, definitely a dick, she thought. Nathalie took a deep breath. "You guys are some sort of paranormal investigators, but more murder-y."

Dean raised his eyebrows. Murder-y? he mouthed to Sam. Sam shrugged.

"From the weaponry, I'd say you hunt these things. And from your bodies and scars, they're not that easy to kill," she said. "How am I doing so far?"

Sam was nonplussed. "You seem to be taking this well," he said haltingly.

Nathalie shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, I don't totally believe you. But I don't believe Tom killed Sara, and for her, I can suspend my disbelief long enough."

They stared at each other for a while, at an impasse. Sam and Dean weren't sure where to go from here: should they include her, or not?

Nathalie's next words settled the question for them.

"By the way, I know what links the victims," she said.

* * *

><p>"All of them were survivors," Nathalie said. She went to the laptop, typed in her password to access a journalism database.<p>

She brought up archived news stories of deaths that occurred years ago. She turned the laptop to face them.

"Your first victim, the one who drowned? His mother took the kids to the lake and drowned them one by one. His father came home; saw what happened and shot her before killing himself. The kid survived because he was older, plus dad had interrupted her. Very Shutter Island," she commented.

"If the father had bothered to stick around, he would have seen one of the kids was just unconscious."

She punched in a few buttons.

"Same goes with the other victims. In each case, one of the parents killed the family before offing himself, or herself," she added.

"One kid always managed to survive."

Sam read the news reports. He looked up at her in surprise. "How –"

Nathalie smiled. "I'm a journalist. We don't need to hack into records, most of the time. Our database has all the information we need if we know where to go."

Sam looked disappointed.

"If it makes you feel better, it's not that easy to find out," she added. "Most of the kids changed their last names. Most were adopted by strangers, if not distant relatives. Some told people about their history, some didn't."

Dean nodded, impressed. "Nice work."

"Based from what I read in that book of yours, the ghosts of their family are going for a serious family reunion. What I don't know is why," she said.

"It is a seal," Castiel spoke.

Nathalie was startled. It had been a while since he had spoken, that she had almost forgotten he was there. Almost, but not quite.

Dean looked at Castiel.

"You're kidding me," he said. "Well, that explains the demon."

Castiel looked back and said deliberately, "No, I am not … kidding you."

"Seven lambs are to be sacrificed. And these people _are_ the ultimate lambs, innocent children surviving the worst atrocity anyone can go through," he added.

"Wait, seven? We only have six victims," Dean said.

Castiel nodded.

"The seventh still lives. It is why I am here," he said.

"Well, do you know where he is?"

Castiel shook his head. "We do not know."

Nathalie arched her eyebrow. Who's 'we'? And what demon?

Dean punched the wall. Sam looked worried.

"But how are we supposed to prevent it if we don't know where the next victim is?" Sam asked.

Castiel shrugged. Or rather, moved his shoulders to denote a shrug, Nathalie noted to herself, as if he was not used to the action.

"The seventh is in this town. I can feel it. But I do not know where exactly," Castiel continued.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Awesome. An angel with a broken GPS."

* * *

><p>Mike, the bartender, looked at his watch. Almost 10pm. Time to start checking on the inventory. It was a weeknight, so the bar was not as full as usual. Mostly regulars who had come down for a few drinks with friends. Even they were starting to make a move.<p>

Although he wasn't legally required to close the bar down until 1am, he started cataloguing his inventory early on slow nights. Made it easier and faster to lock up and go home. Sometimes he closed it earlier.

I'm getting old, he grimaced, hauling the trash out to the back. The idea of bed at 12am was laughable a few years ago. Not anymore.

The silence was deafening when he stepped out into the alley. It felt oppressive and for no reason, he was afraid.

The streetlight outside the alleyway flickered. Mike thought he saw a long shadow moving across it. But that's ridiculous, he chided himself. What would make something like that?

Nevertheless, he was impatient to get rid of the trash. He upended the container hurriedly, not caring that some of the contents spilled onto the ground.

All he knew was that he had to get out of here. The lights over the door flickered.

* * *

><p>"Angel?" Nathalie asked. With unerring journalistic sense, she had honed in on the one word that Dean had hoped she would not notice.<p>

Sam and Dean looked at her. It was weird. They really didn't look much like each other, but their gestures are so similar.

Castiel looked at her somberly, his blue eyes boring into her.

She laughed nervously. These guys had to be nuts, right?

Strangely enough, she could accept ghosts. Demons … ok, maybe. But angels?

Anyway, this man looked so … so … un-angelic. For one thing, he was so scruffy. True, he had an aura of strength and power about him, with an underlying hint of menace. Not exactly how she imagined the word "angelic" to be.

Castiel looked down at his clothes. "I am not scruffy," he told her, indignantly.

Nathalie stifled a gasp. How did he -? He could read her mind, she realized.

She blushed. He probably knew she had wondered what he'd look like naked, what it would feel like to kiss him. Castiel's gaze did not waver, looking at her curiously.

Dean grinned. He patted Castiel's shoulders.

"Simmer down, Cas. Not everyone goes for the holy tax accountant look."

Sam smiled uncertainly at Nathalie. "Erm, yeah, Nathalie. Castiel is an angel of the Lord. He's here to help us …."

She stared at them in shock, unwilling to believe. She laughed weakly.

"Right. OK," she said, grabbing her purse. She stood up, backing away slowly.

"If you don't mind, I'm gonna go now. I've got enough crazy to deal with for the moment. I don't need more, so thanks, it was nice meeting you guys – I guess – and see ya around," she added, practically running out of the room.

Sam got up, but stopped when the other two didn't move.

"We're not stopping her?" he asked.

Dean shook his head.

"Good riddance. The more she stays out of it, the better," he said.

Sam considered the statement. "I guess you're right," he agreed.

He threw Dean a sideways glance. "Too bad though, I liked her. She's got spunk."

Dean snorted.

"That's gonna get her killed one of these days."

* * *

><p>Nathalie walked into Mike's bar. She felt in desperate need for a drink. And a friendly face.<p>

The last six hours had been nuts. For a while, she was willing to believe there were monsters, ghosts and demons. But angels … she refused to believe.

It was probably because she had never pictured herself as one of those religious nuts who went on TV and swore up and down that an angel had saved him from his own stupidity. She'd always thought when she heard such stories that angels had better things to do than waste time saving some idiot who decided going bungee jumping while drunk was a good idea.

And all those survivor stories … one family got roasted by a fire while another in the same building managed to escape. The reason? Not angels, just that one family had the sense to drop everything and run out when the smoke alarm went off while the other dilly-dallied collecting their personal belongings.

No, there were no such things as ghosts, monsters or demons, and most definitely no angels.

Then how did Sara die? her inner voice prompted, inconveniently. She knew in her gut it was not the coward Tom.

Taking a seat, she smiled at Mike, who was standing behind the bar. He looked a bit dazed.

"Hey, Mike. You're a sight for sore eyes," she greeted.

Mike looked at her and smiled. "You too, Nat."

His gaze was suggestive; his eyes resting on her chest a bit too long for comfort.

Nathalie smiled uneasily. It was Mike, but not Mike at the same time.

For one thing, Mike was never that openly salacious. She knew he liked her; they had had one date but no chemistry. He was a nice guy, but he didn't excite her. Even when he checked her out, he never did it so boldly or as obviously.

Now he was looking at her like she was the last popsicle on earth on a blistering summer day.

"You OK, Mike?" she asked, concerned. His behavior was rattling her last nerve.

"Never better," Mike replied.

Nathalie looked around the bar. There was only one other customer. Old Derek sitting at the end of the bar, or rather sleeping, his head in his arms.

She inclined her head to Derek.

"Reckon you should cut him off," she said.

Mike grinned. "I did."

She smiled uncertainly; she didn't like the way he had said that … as if it was a permanent thing.

She looked towards Derek again. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom and now she could see a dark liquid seeping from under the old man.

Her eyes wide, she looked at Mike.

He was still grinning, his light blue eyes all black.


	4. Chapter 4

Using Nathalie's account, Sam checked for any record of family tragedies with a surviving child among the townsfolk. Other than Sara, there was none.

"We really shouldn't have let her go," Sam muttered.

"Come on, Stanford," Dean mocked. "Use that giant brain."

Sam made a face. "Sure, if you give me a day or two. This database is huge."

"Excuses."

On the other side of the room, Castiel sat in quiet contemplation. He was oblivious to the brothers' bickering, his head full of Nathalie.

Nathalie was right to be embarrassed earlier. Castiel had seen the images in her mind; of the two of them kissing, both naked, their bodies intertwined. His initial response was to ignore the images, but instead his mind kept dwelling on them.

His breath came a bit faster, and he was curious. He had not told his vessel to do anything; and yet on its own volition, it was reacting to the images in his head.

He frowned. He did not know what to do with these strange, new emotions. But the more he tried to quell them, the more insistent they became.

He scowled.

"_Oh, god, crap, Cas, anyone … help!" _A small, desperate prayer coming from _her_. He stood up, eyes blazing.

The brothers stopped their bickering and gaped at Castiel. They had rarely seen him look so terrifying.

"She's in trouble," he said, and vanished.

"Who ….? Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled.

* * *

><p>The thing that looked like Mike advanced slowly towards Nathalie, who had backed away from the bar, her hands clenched.<p>

"Someone wants to say hello," he said menacingly. He paused. "And goodbye too, I guess," he tittered.

Nathalie screamed. Non-Mike laughed. "Go ahead and scream all you want, hon. No one's here," he said.

Nathalie's breath came in short gasps; she was in deep trouble. She kept backing away, aiming for the front doors.

She felt the door jambs poking her butt. She turned and pushed at them, they didn't move.

Mike laughed.

She shrank back against the sealed doors. Was this what Sara went through?

"Get away!" she screamed, tossing some salt from the salt shaker she had grabbed from the bar.

Non-Mike stopped. "How'd you know –" He laughed again.

"No matter. You don't have enough salt to scare me, sweetheart."

Sobbing, Nathalie felt the temperature change. Her breath steamed in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something; fuzzy at first but fast coalescing into the shape of a woman. She had a bloody gunshot wound on her chest.

Desperately, Nathalie sprinkled salt in the ghostly figure's direction. The ghost blurred where the salt grains hit it, but like Mike said, they weren't enough. Already the ghost was becoming solid again.

_Oh god, crap, Cas, anyone … help,_ she prayed.

What happened next was something she could only describe as unbelievable. Suddenly, Castiel was next to her. He turned to the Mike-thing and extended his hand.

"Nuh-uh, not this time, _angel,_" the thing hissed. Black smoke poured out of Mike. Mike collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Nathalie gasped but Castiel was not done. He held her tight. She saw a flash of light.

* * *

><p>Nathalie and Castiel materialized in the motel room. Nathalie would have fallen but the angel held her tight still. She felt oddly comforted, even as her mind was shrieking.<p>

Sam and Dean went to her, Sam holding her hand and leading her to a bed. Nathalie clutched her chest, her breath panicky.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"I found the seventh seal," Castiel replied, calmly.

Sam and Dean looked at Nathalie.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam pressed the steaming hot cup of tea in her trembling hands.

"Here, this will help," he said gently.

Her eyes still wide, she took a sip obediently. It was nice and hot, with a kick to it. Obviously the guys believed in the old alcohol-as-a-cure regiment. Fleetingly, she thought the best comfort would be to be in Castiel's arms again. At this point, however, she was in no mood to argue.

Dean looked questioningly at Cas. The angel was still looking at the woman, gazing at her almost tenderly. Dean sighed. He knew the signs, even if Cas was completely clueless as usual. The angel was developing a crush. He would have laughed if he had not been so amazed.

He cleared his throat. Cas's eyes went to him, almost guiltily.

"You were saying …?" he asked.

"Nathalie is the seventh seal," Cas repeated.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we got that. What happened exactly?"

He opened his mouth to answer but Nathalie interrupted him.

"You came because I prayed to you," she said quietly, her eyes searching Cas's. The angel gazed back at her, his eyes a brilliant blue.

"Yes," he said.

Nathalie nodded. "Glad you edited out the 'crap' in my prayer," she half-joked. Castiel looked at her blankly.

Sam crouched next to her. "Can you tell us what happened?"

She took a deep breath, laughing shakily. "I'm still trying to process it." She paused. "I was at the bar. Something was in Mike, the bartender. I don't know … his eyes were all black."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"He told me someone wanted to meet me. And then a woman showed up … no, a ghost of a woman showed up.

"I threw some salt at her" – she saw the boys' surprised looks and smiled. "I read that in your book."

She continued: "She didn't go away though; I didn't have enough salt. But then Castiel appeared and brought me here."

"What happened to the demon?" Dean asked.

"Demon? You mean Mike was possessed?" she asked.

Dean nodded.

"I think Castiel tried to do something but Mike … I mean the demon … said 'Not this time' and left, I guess. There was black smoke," she said, looking to Sam and Dean for confirmation. Sam nodded, Dean brooded.

"He escaped before I could touch him," Castiel explained.

Nathalie frowned. But that wasn't true. If he had not been holding Nathalie, he could have touched the demon and killed him. But he didn't let go of her.

Sam took her hands. She shifted her attention to him. "You mentioned a ghost. Can you describe her?"

"She wasn't someone I've seen before, I'm sure of that," she said after a long pause.

"What else?"

"She had a gunshot wound in her chest," she replied. "Is that significant?"

The brothers nodded. She gave them a questioning look.

"Yeah. We know how the ghost is gonna gank you," Dean said.

Nathalie flinched. Sam glared at his brother, who looked suitably chastened.

"Insensitive much?" Sam said.

Nathalie put up her hand. "It's fine. I understand."

She sat on the bed in silence, her mind racing.

"Wait, no, I don't understand," she finally said. The men looked at her.

"The other people all died because they were the only survivor in a family murder-suicide. But my mom is still alive. And my dad died of a heart attack. So why am I the target?" she asked.

"Huh, good question," Sam said.

"Were you adopted?" Dean chimed in.

"No."

"You sure?"

Nathalie glared at him. Sinful good looks did not excuse general douchiness.

"This is beside the point," Castiel intervened, his gravelly voice harsh. He had felt Nathalie's need to be held, to be comforted and it confused him. He was desperate to be away but felt tethered to her.

"We know she is the seventh seal. All we have to do is make sure she is alive until the time to break it is done," he added.

Dean clasped his hands together. "Sounds good to me."

Sam snorted. "Dean, don't you want to know why?"

"Of course. Which is why you and me will investigate, and flyboy here will babysit her," he said, smirking.

Castiel wondered if smiting Dean would really be a bad thing.

* * *

><p>They went to Nathalie's apartment; she refused to spend the night in the motel room, pointing out the lack of bed space and utilities.<p>

Dean had tried to argue, saying the motel room was smaller which meant it was easier to secure against demons and ghosts. Nathalie was obstinate. She had looked him straight in the eye and said, "My ass, my choice."

The kicker was when Nathalie pointed out they would have better access to information and food at her apartment. Sam, who had been watching the argument with amusement, had agreed.

Dean gave his brother a disgusted look. "Turn-coat," he accused.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but she has a point. We have to find out more," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes, threw up his hands and gave an exasperated snort. "Fine!"

Castiel had reluctantly agreed to go ahead to Nathalie's apartment to check for any danger. The brothers packed up what they could and headed out, Nathalie in tow.

There was yet another argument over the Impala; Nathalie wanted to get her car. Dean was ready to strangle her.

"What's wrong with my car?" he asked angrily.

"It stinks," she said, wrinkling her nose. Sam sucked in his breath, insulting the car was tantamount to stabbing, shooting and flaying Dean. All at the same time.

Dean blinked. "Excuse me?" he said, his voice rising. Nathalie crossed her arms, her face stubborn. Dean glared at her.

Desperate to keep the peace, Sam stepped in the line of fire.

"I'll get Nathalie's car," he said.

They both glared at him.

"It's fine. We should check on your friend anyway," Sam added.

Nathalie gasped. She had forgotten all about Mike. All fight went out of her. Meekly, she nodded and got into the Impala without a word.

"Oh great, now you're gonna leave me with her?" Dean asked, angrily.

Sam tried to hide a smile. "Try not to kill her."

Dean threw Sam a dirty look and nodded curtly. He got into the car, ignoring Nathalie. For her part, she sat huddled in the passenger seat, hugging herself.

Despite himself, Dean couldn't help feeling sorry for her. It must be tough, a ghost kills your best friend and then suddenly, you find you're the next target.

"You don't have to feel sorry for me," she said, a bit harshly than she intended. She had felt his glances.

Dean narrowed his eyes.

Nathalie sighed. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong."

"Apology accepted," he said.

Nathalie opened her mouth to argue that she wasn't apologizing to him per se, but decided against it. Dean glanced at her.

"What? No comeback?"

She shrugged, hopelessly.

"It's useless, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"A ghost is after me. You don't know who or how to stop it. And I certainly can't help you. I don't know anything," she said.

"You never know. Me and Sam, we've managed to pull some stuff out of our asses before, saved the girl." Dean gave her a side along glance, sporting a cocky grin.

"And I bet the girls were always 'grateful'," she said sardonically. She couldn't help smiling, though.

Dean grinned. "You wouldn't believe how grateful they were. Some of them were grateful multiple times, sometimes, their sister or roommate is grateful too," he said, sniggering.

Nathalie rolled her eyes and groaned humorously, covering her face with her hands. They rode together in companiable silence for a few minutes.

"Why don't you tell me about your childhood and your mom?" Dean ventured.

Nathalie glanced at him.

"It might help," he added.

She nodded. Taking a deep breath, she told Dean everything she could think of about her life, how normal it was. About her family, growing up as an only child; her mother unable to have any more after waiting 10 years for her.

In turn, she asked him about his life.

"So you grew up doing this? Hunting monsters, demons and ghosts?" she asked.

"Pretty much," he said.

She considered what he said, biting her lip.

"And where do angels come in?" she asked.

Dean gave her a quick look. "Was wondering where this was headed," he said, his eyes on the road.

Nathalie blushed. She had not planned to ask the question, but it came out anyway.

"Cas is here because we're trying to stop the Apocalypse," he finally answered.

Her eyes grew wide. "Apocalypse? End of the world-apocalypse?" she stammered out.

Dean nodded, all business, none of the bad-boy swagger. He was expecting the next question, but it still surprised him when he heard it. Nathalie was quick on the uptake, her instincts good; in another life, she would have made a good hunter.

"Cas said I was a seal. The seal brings about the Apocalypse?"

Dean frowned, wondering if he should tell her everything. He finally chose honesty – cliff notes version.

"Not exactly. It just means we're closer to the end of the world … if … you know, if you died," he admitted.

Nathalie looked down at her hands. So, she must stay alive to save everyone she loved from the end of the world. She had no problem with that, except she now realized how single-minded the other side was about killing her.

For the first time in her life, she thought of how vulnerable she really was. Humans go about life with a small cloud of self-delusion, a mix of security and invincibility. But we could so easily be killed; fall down a flight of stairs and your neck could snap. Cross the street and a car could take you out in a second.

Intense blue eyes floated in her mind. Castiel, the angel. Would he be able to save her? She didn't know. From what she heard, it seemed that seals were not easy to save.

Dean glanced at her, concerned. He considered putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

><p>Castiel looked around Nathalie's kitchen, his mind probing her apartment for any sign of spirits or demons. There was nothing.<p>

There was a flutter of wings. He turned.

Uriel, his colleague and friend, was standing in the living room. In his guise of a tall, black man, his face was grave.

"Castiel, why are you still here?" he asked.

"I found the seal."

"That doesn't explain anything."

"Keeping her alive is the most important thing. Her death breaks a seal," Castiel explained in slow, measured tones.

Uriel walked around the living room, looking at Nathalie's photos, touching her magazines, smirking in contempt.

"You did not have to stay here and ..." Uriel's face twisted "… hold their hands."

"You know my orders. There is a chance to save the seventh seal and I am doing everything in my power to make sure it is not broken," Castiel replied.

Uriel went to him, his eyes intent on the angel. Castiel held his gaze as calmly as he could.

"But you haven't done everything in your power to save the seal," Uriel finally said.

Castiel averted his eyes.

Uriel shook his head. "All this for hairless apes," he sneered and left.

Castiel's expression darkened. Uriel's comment had touched a nerve. There was another way. Why wasn't he doing what needed to be done?

* * *

><p>"You know the only lead we have is the gunshot wound, right?" Nathalie asked. They were in her living room, books and papers strewn on the coffee-table, mixing with the sandwiches she had made for Sam and Dean. She had made one for the angel too, but he had blankly told her, "I have no need of sustenance." He had taken the plate anyway.<p>

She didn't bother making one for herself, the deep fear in her belly edging out any hunger pangs she might have.

Sam nodded. He was going through police and news reports from the 1980s. Since there was no Internet then, he had to use Nathalie's account to access the microfiche database and scan the reports.

"We're gonna have to search for any family deaths with gunshot. I don't know how you'll be able to connect it to me though," she added.

"One thing at a time, sweetheart," Dean drawled. He was cleaning his gun, one of the dozens he must have stashed in his bag.

Nathalie shuddered. The surreal setting was getting to her: her best friend killed by a ghost, her other friend possessed although luckily, he survived. Tomorrow, they were going to interview her mother, and now two brothers and an angel sat in her living room discussing calmly how to stop a ghost from killing her. It sounded outlandish.

Her eyes went to Castiel. He glanced at her when he felt her eyes on him.

She looked away, furious with herself. Every chance she got, it seemed her eyes would seek the angel.

Nathalie looked around the apartment. The men had secured the place, by drawing sigils at every entrance, called Devil's Trap, and put a line of salt at the windows, doors and along the walls. Castiel had secured the place further, though she did not see anything specific he did.

She got up. The men got up too.

"I'm just going to bed," she said.

Dean nodded. "Want me to tuck you in?" he asked, winking.

Nathalie shot him a dirty look. "Really? Is that all you can come up with?"

Dean cleared his throat, shrugging. "Can't blame a man for trying," he said philosophically. He gestured at Castiel. "Cas, you stay with her."

Something akin to alarm flashed across the angel's eyes, replaced quickly by his usual calm, impassive expression. He inclined his head.

"Of course."


	6. Chapter 6

Nathalie was nervous.

Castiel had obediently turned away when she started changing, although she wouldn't be surprised if he already knew what she looked like naked. For all she knew, angels might have x-ray eyes as well. She kept her back to him and changed quickly. She dove under the covers and dragged the blankets to her neck.

"You can turn around now," she called out softly.

Castiel turned around. She held the covers to her neck, as if they served as a shield. She and the angel looked at each other in awkward silence for a few seconds.

"You don't have to stand there all night," she finally said. "Take a seat."

"I have no need to sit down," he responded.

"Sit down. I'm not going to be able to sleep with you looming over me," she snapped, her nerves frayed.

Castiel appeared to consider this and nodded. He moved silently to the edge of the bed and sat down.

"I'm sorry," her voice soft. "I'm a bit on edge still." She gave him a wobbly smile.

Castiel turned to face her. She looked so fragile in bed; her eyes still haunted. She had changed into a filmy, white negligee before getting into bed. Ironically, he would never have considered her naked body until, blushing, she had asked him to turn away while she changed.

To Castiel, the human body was just a vessel, something he needed to move around in. But the embarrassment Nathalie felt over the idea of a man watching her strip naked drove home the point that the human body was for much more.

He felt curiosity, wanting to understand the connection.

She moved to lie on her side.

"So you're an angel," she said. In the history of lame comments, that would be the worst, she berated herself.

"Yes," Castiel answered seriously.

"What is it like?" she asked.

Castiel frowned, unsure what she meant. He kept quiet.

Nathalie sighed. "Never mind. It's a silly question, I guess."

"If you mean what I can do, I am able to do a few things," he finally responded.

"Like?"

"I can heal, teleport, move things with my mind and my touch can kill demons. I can also read minds and move through time and space, though that can be difficult."

Nathalie considered what he had just said. "How did you get involved with the Winchesters?"

Castiel's face grew somber. "I rescued Dean from Hell, at God's command," he said after a while.

Nathalie gasped.

"You know God?"

Castiel shook his head. "Angels above me tell me His wishes, His plans."

"Then how do you know it's really from Him?" Nathalie asked.

Castiel frowned at her, his eyes glittering blue. "I have faith."

Without thinking, Nathalie grasped his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean …" her voice trailed off.

The angel looked at her hand on his. Slowly, achingly, he moved his hand and held her fingers. He lifted his eyes to hers.

Nathalie gasped. His eyes were a blazing blue. His fingers traced random patterns on her hand gently. She felt warm and tingly; she found the small caresses more erotic than a full body massage.

Looking at his surprised expression, she knew he was not prepared for this reaction.

Nathalie sat up and moved to him. Placing her hands around his chiseled, beautiful face, she kissed him gently.

Castiel closed his eyes, marveling at the multitude of sensations; more heavenly than the touch of her hand. His eyes flared open and he jerked away.

Nathalie stared at him, heavy lidded, her mouth slightly open. Nervously, she touched her tongue to her suddenly dry lips.

Castiel's eyes were riveted on her lips. With apparent effort, he tore his gaze away. He stared out into space, as if seeking strength from the emptiness. Moments ticked by, but still Castiel stayed in the pose.

Nathalie bit her lips. She felt like crying; it was never fun to be rejected but this felt like a physical blow. _What is it with me and unavailable men?_ she thought.

"It is not you. I too feel a strange connection," Castiel responded to her thoughts, speaking heavily. "But I am not for you. I am an angel, one of God's warriors. I cannot give you what you need."

Nathalie was silent. What could she say?

Castiel faced her again, his face resolute but tender.

"You need sleep," he said, touching her forehead gently. Before she lost consciousness, she thought he looked sad.

* * *

><p>Nathalie was on a beach, the sun's hot rays caressing her skin, waves lapping gently at her feet. She closed her eyes, feeling at peace.<p>

She felt a presence next to her and saw it was Castiel. He smiled.

She smiled back, shielding her eyes.

"Am I dreaming?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Am I dreaming you're here?"

"No."

She accepted his answer happily. They sat in companiable silence, both looking out to the sea; it seemed to stretch forever.

Castiel shifted closer to her, his hand moving to take hers. She turned to him, her eyes mildly curious.

"This is all I can give you," he whispered, lowering his lips to hers.

They made love slowly; Castiel unpracticed. Nathalie didn't mind. He made up for his lack of knowledge with an eagerness to learn.

When she came, the joy she felt was sweeter and more piercing than she had ever experienced. She screamed out her satisfaction, encouraging Castiel to follow suit, to find a different path, a very human way to heaven. He joined her; it was like dying and being reborn.

Spent, they lay on the beach, Nathalie's head on his chest, Castiel holding her close. Nathalie's breathing slowed, she had never been happier.

Castiel lifted his head. He kissed her lingeringly.

"Sleep well," he said, before vanishing.

* * *

><p>Sam looked up from the computer at Dean. His brother had settled on the couch, snoring softly, his mouth open.<p>

"Dean, wake up."

No response. Sam picked up one of the beans left on his plate and lobbed it into Dean's mouth with unerring accuracy.

Dean woke up with a snort, coughing. He spat the bean out.

"You asleep?" Sam asked, amused.

Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes, "Just resting my eyes."

"Yeah, right."

"You bothering me about something or you wanted to sing me a lullaby?" Dean growled.

Sam grinned. "I think I found the woman Nathalie mentioned, but it doesn't make sense," he said.

"Nothing about that woman makes sense," Dean said grumpily, rubbing his temples.

"Because she likes Cas over you?" Sam asked, laughing.

Dean grunted. He wasn't going to admit it. Cock-blocked by a Ken doll with wings, how embarrassing. "What did you find?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Young couple, been married two years. Wife had just given birth. Guy was convinced the baby wasn't his and one day decided to punish his wife and kid," Sam said.

"OK, seems clear so far. What's so weird?"

"I dug up the police report. It said the police found three bodies. Guy shot himself after killing his wife and daughter," Sam said. "But get this, no survivors."

"It can't be Nathalie's ghost then," Dean said.

"I considered that, but the timing is right."

Dean considered what he was hearing, the wheels in his mind clicking madly. "And there's no one else who fit the profile?"

"Nope. This was big news back in the day. This town doesn't usually get murders and then they get two murder-suicides within three years of each other," Sam said.

"And the police are sure the guy got his whole family? No toddler running away at the last minute?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "The guy killed his family two weeks after the wife gave birth, so unless the baby is from Krypton, I don't think the baby managed to run away."

Dean was silent.

"Either the police couldn't tell the difference between a dead baby and live one, or someone went through a lot of trouble to cover it up," he finally said.

"Yeah."

"You know what we gotta do."

"We have to check the graves," agreed Sam, nodding.

"I'm assuming you found out where they were buried."

"Bedford Cemetery. It's a few miles west of us," Sam replied, grabbing his jacket.

"I'll just check on her and Cas real quick," Dean said, stretching.

He went to Nathalie's bedroom. All was quiet. He pushed the door open a fraction.

He saw Castiel sitting on the bed, Nathalie sleeping peacefully. The angel had a look of intense concentration. His hand, however, was holding Nathalie's.

Dean paused at the sight. Castiel somehow looked so lost and alone sitting there. He felt like he should say something, but nothing came to mind.

He closed the door.


	7. Chapter 7

They located the baby's grave without much hassle. It was off to side, under an elm tree. Dean got to work immediately, digging the grave with the ease of someone who was all too familiar with grave-digging.

The shovel hit wood. Dean knelt and brushed the dirt away. He took out a penknife and pried open the lid. It screeched in protest.

Sam shone his flashlight into it.

The skeleton of a baby lay forlornly in what used to be silk sheets, now rotted. There was an ugly hole in her skull.

Dean sat back.

"Huh, didn't expect that twist," he said.

* * *

><p>Nathalie woke up slowly, stretching luxuriously. The sun's rays filtered through the curtains and bathed her in a cheerful yellow light.<p>

She was happy, she thought in surprise. She remembered having a wonderful dream, but the details escaped her. Events of last night before she fell asleep came back, but the pain of Castiel's rejection no longer pained her.

Nathalie sat up, half fearful he had left. But no, Castiel was still there, sitting at the edge of the bed where he was last night.

For some reason, Nathalie blushed.

"Good morning," she said.

Castiel inclined his head. His gaze was pensive.

Nathalie looked away, feeling hurt. She could feel that something had changed between them, but she did not know what.

_Screw it_, she thought mutinously. She swung her legs off the bed, not caring if Castiel could see the full outline of her body under the filmy white negligee.

Castiel, in fact, could. He may have removed Nathalie's memories of her dream, but he still remembered. Every single curve, every single moan, every single caress.

He gulped. Maybe last night was a mistake. He should never have given in. Although he only projected his image into her dream, it was still him. He still felt everything they had done, even if he did not experience it physically.

But the attraction he felt between them was too strong, too new, and he had no defenses against it. He realized the longer he was in his human vessel, the more emotions he was developing. And ever since he found out the case Sam and Dean were investigating was one of the seals required to release Lucifer from his cage, he had stayed with them, extending his time on earth by days.

Uriel was right. Castiel could have saved the seal as soon as he found out it was Nathalie, but he found he wanted to stay with her. His feelings for her stopped him from moving on.

Castiel was troubled. Emotions were a gateway to doubt. Prior to his sojourn to earth, he had always known what to do. There was only black and white. There was only one path. But now Castiel found he could interpret an order in a variety of ways.

Nathalie raised her negligee. The hem went up but stopped short at her butt. Castiel looked up to see her eyeing him.

"You planning to watch?" she asked. His eyes were bluer than she remembered, almost crumbling her resolve. Her jaw set, she took off the wispy material and stood naked in front of him.

Castiel averted his eyes.

"My apologies," he said and vanished.

Nathalie sighed. She turned on the shower, oblivious to the drops of water washing away the salt line along the window.

* * *

><p>Sam and Dean let themselves into the apartment, dirty and exhausted. They had burned the skeletal remains of the family just in case they were related to Nathalie. Upon entering, they knew something was wrong.<p>

The apartment felt empty.

Dean looked around, pulling his gun out. Sam did the same.

"Cas?" Dean called out.

A gust of wind and Cas appeared. He looked troubled.

"What happened?" Dean asked harshly.

"Nathalie is gone," he replied.

Dean swore. "For fuck's sake, Cas. I thought you were supposed to be watching her. How'd you lose her?"

Castiel couldn't seem to meet his eyes. "She started to take a shower …" he explained lamely.

Dean couldn't help laughing. "And you bailed?"

He shook his head. "Cas, when a hot girl takes a shower in front of you, there are only two things you do: one, you get in the shower with her. Two, you …." Dean paused. "No, I was wrong, there's only that one thing."

"Yeah, not to break the Penthouse Forum here," Sam interrupted, "but Nathalie is still missing."

"I failed. I'm sorry," Castiel said.

Dean looked at him curiously. "Her naked scares you that much?"

Castiel chose not to respond. Sam gave Dean a warning look. Dean knew the look. Don't rub it in, it said. He sighed.

"OK, never mind. Do you know what happened?"

"I can only assume that the water from her shower washed away the salt line by her bathroom window, allowing a demon to enter," Castiel answered.

They walked to the bathroom. Sure enough, the salt line was broken, the window open, broken. On the ledge was some yellow dust – sulfur, and some blood. Dean brushed the offending dust away.

"So where now?" Dean asked, frustrated. Castiel looked away; the broken salt line seemed to mock him.

"Can you sense her? You did before," Dean persisted.

Castiel looked at Dean. "Only if she prays for me. But even if she did, I doubt I will be able to sense her."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"The demon is sure to take precautions against me, now that he knows I am involved," Cas explained.

Dean glared at the angel. He was angry that he had allowed Nathalie to be taken, by trusting an angel to be in charge of her safety – an angel he was not even sure he fully trusted, if he admitted it to himself.

Sam intervened. "Well, we're not out of time yet. Tonight is when she is supposed to die?" he asked Cas.

Castiel nodded.

"The only lead we have now is Nathalie's mother. Maybe we can find out something from her," Sam said.

* * *

><p>Nathalie regained consciousness slowly, groaning. Her head felt like it was on fire. She moved to touch her face and realized her hands were tied to her back. The thing that had grabbed her had tied her to a chair.<p>

"Rise and shine, honey," came her mother's cheery voice.

Nathalie looked up in shock, wincing at the movement.

Her mother was standing in front of her, flanked by two big and strapping men. But wait, it wasn't her mother. Her eyes showed black for a second before settling again to her usual brown.

The demon in her mother's body smiled. Nathalie had never realized how menacing her mother could look; she had always been a sweet, diminutive plump woman that fluttered about the house, loved her, hugged her and kissed her boo boos. And harassed her about getting married.

"Don't worry. Mommy, or at least the one you think is your mother, is here inside," the demon said.

Nathalie frowned. "What do you want?" she asked.

"You dead of course. Silly girl," the demon replied.

She walked around the small bedroom. It looked abandoned; the wallpaper was peeling off the walls, stained with age and water. There was no furniture in the room, other than the chair Nathalie was in and a rocking chair to the side of the room.

There wasn't much light, the windows had been boarded up.

"Do you know how hard it was to find you?" the demon continued. "Even I was surprised, but luckily the spell is fool proof.

"Whatever soul we raise will go after the surviving member no matter how well the survivor is hidden," she added.

_Cas, if you can hear me, please, I need you_ … Nathalie prayed desperately.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you," the demon chimed in. "Your angel boyfriend isn't going to come. I made sure of it." She smiled.

"You can't see it, but this place is angel-proof." She leaned over Nathalie. "All we have to do is wait now."


	8. Chapter 8

The Winchesters stepped out of the Impala, walking towards the house in trepidation. It was a nice sprawling home, with a large front yard and a small pool in the back. Luckily, the houses in the neighborhood were situated far apart so there was little danger of being detected.

Castiel was waiting for them in front.

Sam and Dean released the safety catch of their guns.

"Anything in there?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. "I can't tell."

Dean nodded and moved in slowly. He tested the door knob and found it was unlocked. Usually not a good sign, but this was a small town in Michigan. People didn't really bother to lock their doors here.

The three stepped indoors. The place had the look and feel of being empty. Sam crouched, touching the yellow dust in a corner. Sulfur.

The two put away their guns. Whatever demon that was in the house was long gone.

* * *

><p>"Your mommy did a naughty, naughty thing," the demon continued. She clearly loved the sound of her own voice.<p>

Nathalie remained silent.

The demon paused. "Oh come now. Don't pretend you're not dying to know," she giggled.

Nathalie looked away. The demon frowned and slapped her hard. Nathalie yelped.

"That's much better," the demon said.

"You wanna know why it's so hard to find you?"

"Do tell," Nathalie said through clenched teeth.

"Simple, silly. Your mommy hid you. She gave you up."

* * *

><p>"Let me be the first to say it; we're royally screwed," Dean growled.<p>

Sam didn't respond. It did seem hopeless.

Dean found the answering machine; there was only one message on it. He played it.

"Hey, mom. It's Nat," Nathalie's voice sounded, clear as a bell. "Two guys are gonna come to your place tomorrow. They're post-graduate students doing a genealogy study. The pretty one isn't too bright though, so be nice. Use small words. Anyway, I'll try to see you later tomorrow. Love you."

Sam stifled a laugh. Dean glowered.

"If she doesn't die tonight, I'm gonna kill her myself," he said.

"She must have called her mother last night to make sure she'd help us out," Sam said, looking around the room.

It was an inviting, homey living room. On one end, an old-fashioned fireplace, with the requisite knick knacks and photos lining the mantle. Above it, a huge gilt-edged mirror, catching and reflecting the sunshine into the room.

On the opposite side of the fireplace, glass doors gave access to a small patio and a modest pool. It was a nice spot to barbecue and hang out on summer evenings, Sam thought.

His eyes went to the other inhabitants of the room: a fluffy couch, love seat, coffee-table, bookcases and a huge worn carpet.

Narrowing his eyes, he realized the messiness of the room was not habitual. Not that it was in complete disarray. Rather, it was the sort of messiness associated with someone looking for something she had kept stored for years.

"Fat lot of good that did. We don't have either," Dean commented.

Ignoring his brother, Sam took out a big dusty album from the bottom of a bookcase. It had "Baby's First Album" emblazoned on it. He leafed through it, images of infant Nathalie grinning toothily back at him.

"Cute kid," he said. Dean grunted; cute kid, hot chick, total pain in the ass.

A piece of yellowed paper fell out. Sam picked it up.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"Nathalie's birth certificate," Sam said. "Mother's name: Hannah Merrill. Hannah Merrill, Hannah Merrill, now where …?" He patted his pockets, pulling out a bunch of papers.

He went through them. "Yahtzee!" he shouted. Dean and Cas looked at him.

Sam showed them a printout of a birth certificate. It was the other baby's, the one they had torched.

Dean looked blankly at Sam. "Is this supposed to mean something?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Look at the signature on it."

Dean read it. He looked up, understanding dawning.

Sam nodded. "Hannah Merrill, Nathalie's mom, was the midwife."

* * *

><p>"I wasn't adopted," Nathalie said.<p>

The demon tsked, tsked. "Of course you were. For some strange reason, your mommy was afraid your daddy was gonna go all "Shining" on you. I don't know why, I had only been whispering in his ear for months," she said.

The demon in Hannah's body sat down.

"Anyway, I must have been sloppy and your mommy got scared. When she gave birth to you and your sister, she asked this one to take you," she added, pointing to the body she was occupying.

"And it worked. She took you and two weeks later, daddy went psycho and killed your whole family. I overdid it a bit, I think. He wasn't supposed to go crazy so soon, you guys were supposed to have a few years.

"But no harm, no foul. I still got what I wanted, albeit a bit differently. One kid survived the slaughter. Doesn't matter what road you take; what matters is that you get there, right?" the demon asked brightly.

Nathalie's mind was reeling. In a strangled voice, she asked: "Why me?"

The demon shrugged. "Why not? I was already in town, playing with the Weis family. I thought, might as well kill two birds with one stone. Travelling is a bitch – it's not as if I get air miles going from one end of the country to the other."

* * *

><p>"So Nathalie is a twin? And this Hannah took her?" Dean asked.<p>

"Looks that way," Sam said.

"Why'd she do it? Nathalie's mother didn't want her?"

Sam shook his head, puzzled.

Castiel came over with a book. "I believe the answer may be in here."

Sam took the book from Cas. It was Hannah Merrill's midwife journal from 1980. Sam read the notes on the page Cas had opened the book to.

"'Nell was hysterical. She begged me to take one of the babies. She was convinced her husband would hurt them'," Sam read. "Nell must be Nathalie's real mother."

"OK, so now we know how Nathalie became a seal. Still don't know how to save her," Dean said.

"Maybe it's a spell, like the Raising of the Witnesses."

"No," Castiel said. "There is no mark."

Sam and Dean digested the point.

"We should call Bobby," they said in unison.

* * *

><p>"OK, you're on speakerphone," Dean said. He and Sam sat huddled by the phone, Castiel standing apart, looking at the dying sun through the glass door. He felt impatient but he quelled it. Angels do not know the meaning of impatience, he told himself.<p>

"Cas is right. It's not the same spell," Bobby's gruff voice came through.

"So how are we supposed to stop the ghost? Torching obviously doesn't work. That Sara girl's family was cremated and another guy's family burned to death when Daddy decided to play with matches," Dean said.

"Well, maybe we can wake the ghost up, stop her from killing," Sam suggested.

Dean looked skeptical.

Sam forged ahead. "We know sometimes we can wake ghosts up, break them out of a loop …"

"Yeah, well, this ghost isn't a death echo. And she's thirsting for blood."

"But that's it, she shouldn't be," Sam said.

Dean looked skeptical.

"I'm just saying, maybe we got this all wrong."

"Meaning?" Dean asked.

"We've focused on the victims, the thing linking them is that they survived a family-cide," Sam said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Is that even a word?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Point is they all survived because a family member loved them so much that they tried to rescue them, even if they died in the process."

"Yeah, like Sara's mom screaming, warning Sara to run," Dean agreed.

"And the father shooting Andrea Yates's clone to stop drowning the children. He thought he was too late but he managed to save a kid," Sam added.

"So it's … what? Love?" Dean asked. Castiel turned to them, intrigued.

"Love that only a parent can feel for a child," Sam said. "The demon who bound the spirits twisted their love, their sacrifice, and made them kill so they could be together."

"Maybe we can remind Nathalie's mother of that love and get to protect her, not to kill her," Sam said, his voice trailing off. His ears heard the words coming out of his mouth, and thought they sounded lame. He looked appealingly at his brother.

Dean sighed. "All right. So what's the game plan? We summon the spirit and try to break the spell?"

"Yeah."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sounds a bit iffy, Sam."

Bobby chimed in. "I dunno, Dean. It sounds like the best theory you have."

"You mean the only theory," Dean pointed out.

"Don't get smart with me, young man," Bobby huffed. "There's no harm in trying. What do you have to lose? Only the girl's life, another seal broken and the end of the world if you fail."


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel watched as the sun's dying rays disappeared under the horizon. The time for the sacrifice was close at hand. If he was honest with himself, he was fast losing hope that Nathalie could be saved. Sam and Dean's plan seemed too much of a gamble.

The Winchesters confused him at times. Often, they would operate based purely on instinct, relying heavily on their experience. And they were usually successful.

Castiel would not have approached the problem the way they did. He would have analyzed every aspect first and gone through each scenario, discarding any plan that didn't make sense. He would not have done anything unless he knew success was almost assured. He sighed.

That was a few months ago. Now, he felt almost desperate to have Nathalie alive and save the seal.

_I really shouldn't be here_, he thought. Once he had lost Nathalie, once he knew the demon had taken steps to prevent his intervention, he was useless. Logic dictated that he left Sam and Dean to do what they did best; rush in with some half-baked plan and hope it worked.

Even as he thought this, Castiel made no move to leave.

Was it concern for Nathalie's well-being or keeping the seal intact that was keeping him here? he asked himself. Did he love her? He didn't know.

All he knew was that he wanted to see her again.

Nathalie was in danger because he had got emotionally involved. Because he was unable to handle his emotions. Because he cared too much. He had failed.

* * *

><p>Dean had found a photo locket with a lock of hair that Hannah claimed was Nell's. She had planned to give the locket to Nathalie when she turned 18. But the slaughter of Nell's family changed her mind; choosing instead to keep the ugly secret from Nathalie.<p>

Dean frowned. Let's hope this is legit. He glanced at Castiel. The angel again was lost in his thoughts, staring at the horizon. He scowled. If the angel wasn't busy ordering them around, he was busy staring into space.

Sam was busy drawing the symbols required to summon a spirit. They had agreed that Sam would talk to the spirit, try to remind the spirit of her love for her daughter. Dean meanwhile would try to find Nathalie with Castiel in tow.

When they outlined the plan to the angel, he had merely shrugged, his face a mystery. Dean felt a stab of anger at that; he could tell Nathalie cared for the angel – she could barely take her eyes off him. He thought Castiel felt the same, or had started feeling something … but his actions after losing Nathalie seemed to contradict that.

He was a bit surprised the angel had not ditched, however.

Sam signaled he was ready. Dean gave him the locket. He packed the last of his arsenal into the bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Yo, Tonto, let's go," Dean barked at Castiel. Startled out of reverie, the angel looked at Dean with confusion.

"I am – " the angel started.

"You Tonto, me Lone Ranger," Dean said, crossing the living room. Ah, another odd human reference. Castiel followed him.

"I do not understand what you expect me to do," Cas said once they were outside. "I told you I cannot sense her; the demon has taken steps."

"I know, which is how you can find her," Dean explained, getting into the Impala.

Cas gave him a questioning look.

Dean sighed. "If the demon has blocked you from finding her, all you have to do is find the spot you cannot get through."

Understanding dawned. He nodded, vanishing.

Dean swore and drove out.

* * *

><p>Sam lit the candles and started reading the spell invoking a spirit. He rattled off the names of angels, fallen or otherwise, followed by a string of Latin. Next to him, Hannah's midwife journal and the photo album lay open. He hoped the information within the tomes would help.<p>

Something flickered in the pentagram on the floor. The mist solidified, showing a young woman, roughly the same age as Nathalie. She bore a marked resemblance to her daughter, except her hair was dark.

"Nell?" Sam asked.

The ghost looked confused. Then she saw Sam and snarled, running towards him. She stopped short, hitting an invisible wall, clawing ineffectively at the air.

Sam gulped. "Nell Harvey? Am I speaking to the spirit of Nell Harvey?" he asked.

The spirit hissed. Sam drew in a shaky breath.

This is going to be tough.

"Nell, your daughter needs you. Nathalie needs you," he implored. The spirit ignored him, her eyes sullen and crazed. She paced the small space within the pentagram.

Sam extended a hand, showing her the locket and Nathalie's baby picture.

A spasm of pain crossed the spirit's face, gone so quick Sam was not sure he saw it or imagined it.

"My daughter is dead," Nell finally said. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"No, one isn't. You gave one up, remember? You gave Nathalie up," Sam said hurriedly, holding the photo out. "She's the younger one, the baby of the family. You were not expecting twins. She came as a surprise. You sang "Whole Lotta Love" … Sam rambled on.

He had to get through to the spirit fast. Nathalie did not have much time left.

* * *

><p>"She is in the abandoned house at the end of 23rd Street W," Castiel said, materializing suddenly in the car next to Dean.<p>

Dean swore, barely controlling the Impala.

"Knock first, will ya?" he growled.

Castiel looked puzzled. He actually lifted his hand to rap on the door, but stopped himself. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You sure?" he asked.

Castiel hesitated. "It is the only place that has Enochian warding symbols on them, so she is probably there. I cannot confirm it naturally," he said.

Enochian wha -? Dean thought.

"I'll meet you there," Cas said and vanished again.


	10. Chapter 10

The room suddenly got cold. Her breath came steaming out. Something flickered at the edge of Nathalie's vision. The demon crowed in delight.

"Show time," she said.

Nathalie saw the woman from the other night. At first her image was indistinct, but solidified.

The woman looked similar to her. Same height, but with dark hair. But the eyes were the kicker. They were her eyes: green with brown flecks in them.

The ghost of her biological mother was dressed in a nightgown, the front of her dress a bright red. The gunshot had left an ugly gaping hole in her chest.

The woman raised her hand to Nathalie. She screamed.

* * *

><p>Castiel was waiting outside the abandoned house when Dean drove up. Dean looked up at the building, made imposing only due to its derelict state.<p>

"I cannot enter," Castiel said.

Dean nodded, taking his bag out. "Stay here and get anything running out," he said.

Castiel caught his arm as Dean passed him.

"Dean, I will not be able to help you or Nathalie if Sam's plan fails. Remember, if she dies at the hand of her mother's ghost, another seal is lost," he said, his face turned away, impassive.

Dean started to assure him, but Castiel's words struck him.

"What do you mean?" he asked harshly, his eyes searching the angel's face.

Castiel stayed silent.

Dean sucked in a breath. "You're a cold son of a bitch, aren't you? You're telling me I should kill her now?"

Castiel averted his eyes. "I hope you will be able to save her. But if the plan fails, our only salvation may lie in your hands."

Dean stared at him angrily. His hand tightened over his gun, but relaxed, remembering the angel was immune to mortal weapons.

Then Castiel turned and met his stare. In a flash, Dean understood. He saw hope, desperation and unhappiness in the angel's eyes. Nodding curtly, he opened the door and walked in.

* * *

><p>Sam breathed heavily. He hoped he had managed to break through to Nell's spirit, or that it was enough to break the spell.<p>

There was nothing he could do now but pray.

* * *

><p>Dean heard her scream the moment he entered the house. Fear gripping his heart, he ran in direction of the sound.<p>

Two goons were blocking his way to the stairs, their eyes black. Dean pumped his sawed-off shotgun and shot the two with rock salt. The demons doubled over.

Dean took advantage of their disorientation and splashed holy water on one of them for good measure while his hand grabbed Ruby's demon-killing knife and plunged it into the other.

The demon howled, collapsing. The other demon dove at Dean, pushing him to the ground. Dean fell, the dagger skittering away from him.

Dean elbowed the demon, who was trying to claw his way up to Dean. The demon feinted, avoiding Dean's elbow. Dean kicked hard, his hand outstretched, trying to reach the dagger.

His boot made contact with a knee; the demon yelped in response. It did not slow him down, however, he kept pulling and punching at Dean.

The demon's hands closed around Dean's throat, choking him.

"We've missed you down there, Dean Winchester," the demon snarled.

"I like being on top. Sorry, douchebag," Dean laughed between gasps. His hand grappled for a weapon, any weapon. His hand closed around a hypodermic syringe he had taken from Hannah's house.

He slashed towards the demon, pressing down on the syringe at the same time. The demon howled.

"Pure saline. Suck it, bitch," Dean growled, pushing the convulsing demon away as the salt solution made its way through the bloodstream.

Dean crawled towards the dagger, grabbed it and plunged it into the demon's chest. The demon howled and collapsed, dead.

Breathing heavily, he staggered his feet. He pressed his hand to his side, nothing broken, just another bruise. He ran up the stairs.


	11. Chapter 11

Nathalie gazed at her biological mother in fear. The red stain in front of her dress seemed to grow.

"You left us," the ghost whispered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Nathalie whispered.

Her mother looked at her, extending her hand. Nathalie flinched, but her mother's hand moved in a caressing gesture on her face. She shut her eyes, bracing for the pain in her chest.

Instead she felt cold, coming from the hand where it had touched her. She held her breath, expecting it to turn to pain, if it did not kill her outright.

It turned to … comfort.

She looked at her birth mother in wonder, tears in her eyes.

"Mom …" she said softly. Her mother smiled.

The demon in her adopted mother realized something was very wrong. Narrowing her eyes, she traced some symbols in the air, reciting some Latin verse.

Her mother's ghost turned to the demon, her eyes full of hatred.

The demon started chanting again, her voice shrieking, her hand gestures growing desperate. Nell's ghost moved invariably towards her.

"You'll pay for what you did to my family," she hissed. She touched the demon and the flesh started to burn and decay. The demon screamed.

When Dean arrived at the bedroom, he saw Nell standing in front of Nathalie. Hannah lay unconscious to the side.

Instinctively, he grabbed his shotgun, but stopped when he realized Nell was smiling. The blood stain was no longer on her dress.

"My beautiful girl," she whispered before disappearing.

Nathalie burst into tears.

* * *

><p>Castiel knew the moment the seal was saved. How it remained intact was still up in the air.<p>

He knew Dean would never sacrifice an innocent just to save a seal. As an angel, he should be angry. Preventing Lucifer from walking the Earth should be the No. 1 priority. But he was secretly glad and admired Dean's capacity for compassion.

Nevertheless, he found he was holding his breath when he saw the front door open. What if Dean finally agreed that seals were more important -?

He saw Dean carrying Hannah out, still unconscious. Behind him, Nathalie limped out.

"Help me out here, Cas," Dean grunted. Hannah was still alive, but the demon had misused the body. The diminutive woman had cuts and bruises all over her body.

Avoiding Nathalie's eyes, Castiel placed his hand over the woman. The gaping wounds closed and the woman settled into a deep, healing sleep.

Dean bundled the woman into the Impala. Job done, he turned to the angel and Nathalie. The angel and Nathalie stood close to each other, Dean wasn't sure if they consciously decided to be that close. Nathalie's eyes were on Castiel. Castiel in turn was staring into space again, his face troubled.

Dean cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "I'll just pop your mom at home," he told Nathalie.

Nathalie turned to Dean. Impulsively, she hugged him.

"Thank you, Dean. You saved my life and my mom's," she said, smiling. Blushing, she added, "I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time. But in my defense, you can be a dick."

"That didn't last long, did it?" Dean answered, grinning. He moved to the car.

He decided to throw Castiel a bone.

"I'll let you two talk. Cas can bring you home," he said, turning on the ignition. The Impala roared to life.

Castiel looked at Nathalie. She was dirty and bedraggled, her face a mish mash of scratches, her body bruised.

"I can help," he said, softly, touching his hand to her face. Her wounds healed, but still he kept his hand on her face.

She gazed at him. "I won't see you again, will I?"

Castiel shook his head. "It is doubtful."

Nathalie nodded, resigned. She took a shaky breath, moving her head so her lips grazed the inside of his palm.

The action jolted Castiel. He reflexively tightened his hand and then relaxed. He held her close.

"I'll never forget you," Nathalie said, her eyes shiny with tears.

Castiel smiled sadly. His face serious, he looked deep into her eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes seemed to burn.

"You will not remember me, but you will remember a wonderful dream you had, about a man who loves you very much," he whispered, caressing her cheek.

* * *

><p>"Think Cas will be OK?" Sam asked. They were driving to their next job, their mission in Battle Creek ending happily … for some anyway.<p>

Dean shrugged. He did not want to dwell on the angel and the force of his fledgling feelings. He had accused Cas of being a cold-hearted SOB but now he knew how emotional the angel could actually be. The depth of the suffering Dean saw in Cas's eyes in front of the abandoned house terrified Dean. The angel cared, maybe too much.

_Hope that doesn't end up biting him in the ass, _he thought.

"He removed Nathalie's memories, you know that? She doesn't remember Cas at all, thought we did everything," Sam added.

Dean grunted. "Probably best. We don't want too many civilians knowing about angels walking around."

Sam nodded silently. "Poor Cas," he said softly.

The two drove off in silence, the road stretching ahead of them like a giant snake. At the end of it lies the head of the snake: Lilith.

THE END


End file.
